SIERRA VENTANA
Later we came upon a bush-shelter of some tender of sheep and cattle. It was a forlorn little place—just a hut of poles and bushes and skins by the river bank. It was doorless, and the dweller must have been a very small man, judging by his bed, which was a hole in the earth, pillowed with a broken wooden cargo-saddle. On one of the props was fastened a card with the word "Salido" (Gone out). A bag of canvas, old and stained, was tied up to the roof, a cracked tiny mirror hung from the central pole. He seemed to have no provisions, only a bag of yerba. He had recently killed a lion, for we found its skull. We saw some half-wild cattle near by. It was a grey evening, and, as always when out of the river valleys, the scene around was colourless basaltic desolation.
LA GAVIOTA
On the 9th we struck three habitations. Strong squalls with gusts of rain accompanied us on our way. Sheep and cattle could be seen in the valley below, and at last we stopped at an estancia, where we bought fariña, flour, biscuit, sugar, and mutton—luxuries to which we had for some time been strangers. The owner allowed us to sleep in some mud-houses by the river, and we enjoyed the shelter, partial as it was.
Our next day's march took us across four fords, and by evening we reached an estancia, where I was kindly received and given afternoon tea. Estancia is a word with a fine sound. It may, however, mean anything from a real house, full of comfort, to a mud hut. This estancia was a delightful change to us; we could sit on chairs and saw prints on the wall and a sideboard once more. The night fell very cold, with an empty heaven overhead, but its lower arcs set with slate-blue cloud.
On the 11th we hit civilisation after a march of over forty miles, the last part of which lay across a travesia. Civilisation took the form of an undersized drinking-shop perched on the rim of the bare pampa. How we had longed for civilisation—and now we had found it! I sat writing in a room with pink fly-blown walls and green fittings of the grimiest. Four Gauchos of the lower sort were playing cards for beans and shrieking over their game. The little innkeeper, a small, dark, aquiline, black-bearded Argentine, in a dirty white vest and a black neck-rag, held rule inside. Any camp is better than these antennæ of civilisation, that seem to have touched and always to bear onwards with them things unclean and repulsive. Jones' homely face was good to see, when he came in and said, "I should like to be away from here."